


Nightblooming Morning Glory

by thelma_throwaway



Series: The How-It-Was [9]
Category: Firefly, Serenity (2005)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Implied Smut, Time to Tell Simon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:55:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22381459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelma_throwaway/pseuds/thelma_throwaway
Summary: Jayne and River know it's time to be honest with their crew.
Relationships: Jayne Cobb/River Tam, Malcolm Reynolds/Inara Serra
Series: The How-It-Was [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592782
Comments: 8
Kudos: 74





	Nightblooming Morning Glory

**Author's Note:**

> Not mine, everyone is 18+

It’s the worst part. The part he verifiably does not want to do--- the big, corny reveal. River maintains if they don’t do anything everyone will know soon anyway.

They’ve already been found out by the captain-- he catches them naked on top of a shipping container parked in Serenity’s cargo bay, so by extension Zoe knows too. But she’s known for awhile, she’d told Jayne to be careful one night after watching him peel an orange for River. That was all--- peeling an orange. And if it was that plain then likely Innara knew, and anyways Kaylee’d already guessed and nearly tricked Jayne into admitting it. 

And that left just Simon. 

“I’ll talk to Simon,” she says in the dark. 

“That sounds plain foolish.” He grumbles pulling her close. “Two grown people, don’ need to talk or tell anybody. We’re not hiding it anyway.”

It’s true that the shine of forbidden lust has worn off. The teasing and pushing and testing heat of their first months. Every surface, every secret place, every little handful of minutes between here and there. But the first time they make love, slow and sweet as molasses-- real love like they only talk about in books. Well he nearly burst into a thousand pieces. He still burns for her but it comes without the smoky sting of impermanence. 

Now they sit together, work together, walk together through the never-ending parade of markets, festivals, podunk spaceports, and bad situations. And it’s true that without any discussion on the topic, he’d stopped visiting bawdy house and she’d stopped luring unsuspecting local boys to ruination. A keen observer would see a fleeting hand on the hip, a palm warming the other’s knee under the dinner table, a flash of teeth and eyes. It’s true that her clothes are in his bunk, where she now comes and goes as she pleases. She pops out one day just as the captain passes. She frowns, trying to tamp down whatever opinion he may hold.

“Nothing. Is what I saw here,” Mal mutters. “Nothing is what I’d like to know.”

He tries again later on the bridge when they’re alone. “I’ll just say it once--”

“Don’t.”

He tells her she’s a grown woman, that she can do what she will. That pairs made in the heat of battle weren’t generally long for the world-- love can fuzz your brain.

“We’re not in love.”

“Alls I’m saying is don’t give your life up for that  _ ho tze duh pi gu _ .” 

She said thanks, Dad. And turned away. He just plants a hand on her head, palm warm like he’s trying to pass through some sense through her stitched together skull. Then the speech is done and he leaves the cockpit, never mentions it again as promised.

She hates it too, the push and pull of who will care and how hard. Like they have some say in it. Like it’s a negotiation between her brother and the captain and Jayne. 

But then— against her wildest expectations, Simon brings it up first.

They’re strolling through the botanical gardens of an upandcoming world. River is dressed in a new ink blue salwar, hair rolled in the local fashion, chatting about this plant and that. It’s so close to the life he had assumed they’d have—- the clear air, his brilliant little sister weaving theories that fly far above his head, a refined, civilized life.

“How’s work,  _ meimei _ ?” She stops mid stride to fix him with a strained look. “You don’t talk about it.”

“I thought it made you nervous.”

“It does. But not talking about it won’t change that.”

She keeps walking, fingers locked tensely at the small of her back.

“Seems to make you happy,” he calls, pretending to examine the kaleidoscope bud of a modified rose. “You’re certainly smiling more, sleeping better. Do you feel happier? More at peace?” 

She doubles back to stand beside him, loops an arm through his. She’d been so sure of his opposition that he was half an enemy in her mind now. She’s been expecting a fight. “Yes. I know it sounds strange.”

They watch a four winged cockatoo glide overhead. “You know, this garden is a sanctuary for rescued genetic experiments.”

“I guess I belong here then,” she says without pain. “I’m more like a three-headed daisy or bioluminescent peacock than a girl.”

“That’s not true.” Simon has spent almost a decade lamenting what his sister’s life could have been. The work she would have done, the art she would have created, the accolades she deserved, the recognition. A partner, equally clever. A family, a trio of brilliant little wide eyed babies. He’d known when he’d folded here into that cryogenic case that it would never be, but it wasn’t until now that he’s considered that a life she chooses for her self is better than any one that someone else imagines for her. “You are a remarkable young woman.” 

“You… Are an incurable dork, Simon.” 

They stand in the hum of the garden arm in arm, watching translucent butterflies and fist sized honey bees gambol in lemon scented tall grass.

“Is he good to you?”

River’s heart flips, landing harder than expected at the pit of her stomach. “It’s not your choice.”

“I’m not giving my opinion,  _ meimei _ . You don’t need my permission.” He squeezes her hand in his, admitting to himself for the first time that it’s true. “I’ll confess he’s grown on me somewhat. Though it’s still…. ponderous.”

“He is,” she says finally. They keep walking the garden path, looping back to the stone arched entrance. “Very good.”

“I imagine it’s nice and quiet.” He can’t help himself. “Telepathically speaking.”

She pinches his rib but laughs. “He’s likely to surprise you.” 

Outside the entrance, Mal dawdles Zoe’s son on his knees. She’s off for a day at the hot springs, wrapped in a cotton towel with warm rocks on her back. Innara arrives at the garden, nails freshly lacquered, hair dark with jagua, and smelling like sandalwood. She takes the toddler in her arms and lets him soothe his gums on the smooth stone beads of her necklace. Soon Jayne and Kaylee appear, laden with leafy greenery, paper wrapped meat, a bushel of stone fruit. 

Everyone is so clean and happy, sweet with peace, comfort. River thinks something awful must be coming, something to wipe it all away. After so much time hiding in the black the light is almost unbearable to allow in. She looks to Jayne, who’s already studying her with a worried brow. Her expression must be betraying her, she tries to smile in a way that might be comforting.

“Howstha garden,” he asks no one in particular. “Heard they got some big-ass bees.” 

“Fascinating, actually,” answers Simon, and surprises all assembled when he takes the crate of groceries from him. “I’ll take these the rest of the way. There’s some particularly interesting nightblooming morning glories River can tell you about.” 

Simon and Kaylee drift away, his promises of their own walk through the garden trailing behind them. 

“I do believe he knows.” Innara sits next to Mal, the little boy crawling between their laps.

“Knows what?” Jayne can’t tell if he’s supposed to be angry, scared, happy, what. “What he know?”

“Don’t be dense,” she scoffs. “He  _ knows. _ ”

He shakes the idea once, twice, three times from his head. “Naww, if he know’d he woulda swung on me. Right?”

He looks to River, who looks to the sky, the doom that is not descending. She presses against his side, hand sliding along his back to settle on his hip. She nuzzles her face against his ribs, and with more gentleness than Mal thought physically possible for his ornery, shiftless hired gun, Jayne strokes the swell of her cheek. “Let’s go look at those bees.”

When they’re gone, Mal dares to stretch an arm around Inarra. “He’s still objectively disgusting, right.”

“I mean,  _ I’m  _ not going walking with him. But I suppose they’re well-matched.” She gives the hand on her shoulder an idle kiss. The peace of it all is intoxicating--melodious chirp of genetically engineered songbirds, balmy wind under a slow setting sun, a pleasant game of house with someone else’s kid. 

They sit like this for awhile, watching the shadows lengthen on the shaded plaza before them, pulling apart when Zoe appears across the way. She looks relaxed, skin shiny and eyes hooded.

“You look like you took a million year nap.” Inarra pats the bench beside her. Her young son clambers into Zoe’s arms and she holds him close, still unwilling to give him a name him until a worthy one presents itself. 

“I miss anything important?” 

“Not too,” Mal says. “Just a small change in what depravities I’m willin’ to tolerate on my ship.”

“Them two?” Down the path a way, Jayne and River walk hands loosely clasped. After months of rutting in secret around the ship they both look shy as virgins in the sunlight. “Don’t hurt your head on it, sir.”


End file.
